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'Not so fast.' He stepped after her and caught her by the shoulder, sending her swirling round a hundred and eighty degrees. The fact that she'd have fallen off her heels didn't really matter, because he literally swept her off her feet as he jerked her towards him.
He wasn't satisfied with a submissive response; he wanted surrender—and he got it. He didn't stop until he'd felt the small, guttural moans of pleasure in her throat, parried the darting forays of her tongue with his own and reduced her body to a trembling, boneless mass of screaming nerve-endings.
Gasping for breath, he pulled away, and Hannah was horrified to see her fingers still twisted in his hair. Shaking, she pulled her nerveless hands free. Taking her by her shoulders, he looked so savage that for a minute she thought he was going to shake her.
'That cold-blooded enough for you?'
Cold-blooded! It had been ruthless—a fact that appeared to be slowly dawning on Ethan too. A spasm of something that might have been regret crossed his features.
'It was most impressive, darling,' a strange voice commented. 'Would you like a cup of tea? Drew has just made a pot."
'Mother!' Incredulously Ethan focused on the figure casually seated at the head of the long table. 'What are you doing here? And who the hell's Drew?' He looked without enthusiasm at the tall blond young man who was calmly pouring milk into a mug.
'Didn't I say he'd be delighted to see me? It brings tears to my eyes every time I remember him saying to me, "This will always be your home, Mother." So touching.' She dabbed at invisible spots of moisture at the comers of her eyes. 'Drew is a dear friend of mine who has travelled all the way from Patagonia with me.' Since she'd been widowed, Faith Kemp had indulged her passion for foreign travel, and usually the odd card from exotic places was the only reminder of her existence.
'Geography never was my best subject, Mother.'
If being caught passionately kissing his wife had embarrassed him, he was hiding it well. Hannah, on the other hand, was wishing she were invisible. Wishing didn't help—she was the focus of her mother-in-law's ill-concealed interest and the silent stranger's blue-eyed sympathy as his sharp gaze noted the faded bruises along her shoulder.
'South America, darling. Some people actually speak Welsh there—extraordinary! My great-grandmother was Welsh; did I ever mention it?'
'Yes.' From his expression it was plain that Ethan was less than fascinated by the lesson.
'Andrew Cummings.' The tall man moved forward, his hand extended. He wore faded jeans and a tee shirt, and a tatty army surplus jacket was hung on the back of a chair. His sun-bleached blond hair was almost long enough to tie back in a ponytail, which would have been in keeping with his unconventional image. For an awful moment Hannah thought Ethan was going to ignore the hand. 'I can see I'm intruding.' Drew's voice was low and cultured—an educated bohemian, Hannah decided. Hannah rushed in before Ethan could agree. 'Nonsense—there's plenty of room here. Isn't there, Ethan?' she insisted, glaring at him.
'Of course,' Ethan responded. His reluctance was obvious enough to make Hannah blush. She was beginning to feel quite sorry for the stranger.
I’ll show you to a room,' she put in quickly, seizing the opportunity to escape. She thought for a moment that Ethan was going to object, and breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded.
She'd mounted the stairs, their unexpected guest bringing up the rear, when Ethan's deep voice seemed to vibrate off the vaulted ceiling.
'Well, if you think you're sharing a room with your toy boy under my roof, Mother, you're mistaken.'
'My God,' his parent replied clearly, 'you always were an awful prude! I'm curious, Ethan—how exactly are you planning to stop me? Are you planning on patrolling the house all night?'
Hannah risked a look at the blond young man's profile; much to her relief and amazement, he looked amused.
'Sorry.'
'Don't worry about it, I've been called a lot worse.' He unslung his backpack as Hannah paused outside a bedroom door. 'It's me who should be apologising—I had assumed Faith had warned you we were coming. But then she's rather fond of the element of surprise,' he mused with a reminiscent smile.
'I wouldn't know. I haven't seen her since our wedding day.' To her horror Hannah realised that she was close to tears. 'If you want anything, just yell,' she said hurriedly as she opened the door and stepped to one side for him to enter.
'I think I should be saying that,' Drew observed bluntly. He'd have to be made of stone not to pick up the distress this girl was emanating. That, along with her surly husband's attitude and the traces of old bruises, told a story that filled him with anger. The man was obviously a thug.
